


La Miséricorde

by Thedarkestcon



Series: Of Mercy and Madness [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Absolutely no shipping - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Dream SMP War, Foreshadowing, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Incorporating Election Arc, Minecarting accidents, Minecraft, No beta we fall like L’manberg, Oh theres so much angst, Realism, Someone just gotta call an ambulance thats all, TNT go brrr, Tommy hates Dream but never intended to run him over like that, everything is platonic, no one dies everyone lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedarkestcon/pseuds/Thedarkestcon
Summary: Tommy was close enough to see the white ceramic plate of his mask. That horrific, emotionless, godforsaken mask the man wore to cover his face each time he went into battle. The enemy raised his shield vainly, his body curled like a spring, preparing to jump into the safety of the waters below.But as their heartbeat pumped in terrified tandem, both faces of the war knew there would not be enough reaction time to prevent what was going to happen.In the last millisecond, Tommy swore he saw Dream’s life flash across his eyes behind the vintage of the dead smile.“DREAM WATCH OUT!! -”—Fatally injured by the minecart Tommy accidentally sent his way, the fate of the enemy faction’s very leader was now left in the hands of L’manberg.Yet, Dream once showed them no mercy. So who were they to do otherwise?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Series: Of Mercy and Madness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974946
Comments: 295
Kudos: 1672





	1. Of Hatred and Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:**  
>  Before we start I want to address certain expectations and questions that I’ve been getting from the comments  
> 1) This fic is set in a realism AU where there is no such thing as re-spawning or using admin commands - if you die...well.  
> 2) The tags speak nothing but the truth. TW will be placed in front of each chapter respectively.  
> 3) I’m a studying psychologist, not a medical practitioner so do excuse any inaccuracies with the medical terminology!  
> 4) I have never actually bought or played Minecraft so I’m genuinely unaware of how the game mechanics work. My only point of reference is from MCYT. Do drop me a comment if there are any glaring errors!  
> 5) This is a ship-free and smut-free zone. Every relationship here is 100% platonic and/or brotherly love. I’ll be using their personas in the story and it does not, in any way shape and form, represent who they are irl. Please keep that in mind. At the end of the day, this is just a dramatic piece of fiction. 
> 
> In addition, I played around with the 'canon' storyline and the other characters that were not heavily involved in the war ie: BBH and Skeppy, included the two newcomers to L’manberg and added in Karl who I presume is on Dream’s side. So any inaccuracies with the SMP and seemingly OOCs will be chucked as creative liberties because, dear lord, shit goes up and down there so fast I can barely keep up. 
> 
> Without further ado I present to you the first chapter of _La Miséricorde_. Enjoy!

* * *

_"Every revolution was first a thought in one man’s mind."_

_―_ _Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

With a flick of his wrist, Tommy lit up the last Redstone torch to power up the rail before stretching his aching shoulders and back with a sigh of satisfaction. It took a good half month of meticulous and careful work but he had done it. He had finally connected the embassy to his current ‘Holiday house’ through a network of railroads fueled by Redstone, determination and sheer perseverance on his part. 

Sure Tubbo, Fundy, Jack and occasionally Wilbur himself came by to lend a helping hand but hey, Tommy was sure he had done _at least_ 65% of the work if he could say so himself. 

Shoving a freshly welded minecart onto the start of the track from storage, Tommy grinned as he gazed at his hard work which meandered far into the evening setting sun; twisting and weaving into the nature below his new house before disappearing behind a corner to cut into the far hills leading up towards the back of the embassy. Tommy had yet to take the cart on a test drive but judging by the darkening clouds and ominous rumbling of the skies, the boy knew it was probably going to start pouring buckets sooner or later. Riding on rain-slicked rails might be asking for a little bit of trouble. But alas, trouble was his middle name no?

Besides, he had promised that he would go on his first test ride with Tubbo-

Familiar footsteps thudded against wooden planks as Tommy’s door was wrenched open. Ah, speak of the devil.

“Hey you were supposed to tell me when you were done- Oh my God! You finished it already haven’t you Tommy! Wow!” A hurricane of words came tumbling in faster than the looming elements as Tubbo bundled into his home lunging a bag filled with ores behind him excitedly. Smirking, Tommy directed his friend to a spare chest where he could temporarily store his freshly mined iron before shifting forward to allow Tubbo to come into the minecart behind himself.

“Just in time as usual. Quick lets beat the rain!”

“You sure?” Tubbo’s smile evaporated into a slight frown. “It sounds a little dangerous. What if we slip off?”

“Slip off? Pleeeeease Tubbo.” Pulling on the word and with a scoff of resolve, Tommy dragged his reluctant friend into the cart with him as he felt the first drops of rain fall onto his jacket. “Wilbur and Jack triple-checked the quality of each of the rails and the placement arrangement. We’ll be fine.”

“But-”

“If anything goes wrong we can just jump into the water surrounding the tracks!”

“TOMMY! That’s not a good contingency planaAA-”

The smaller boy’s shriek of abolishment was cut off as Tommy slammed a lever down, activating a Redstone beneath the activator rail which released their minecart in a single fluid movement. 

With the rain behind them, the wind in their faces and the steady thundering of the cart on the tracks, Tommy hollered in victory. He could hear his friend’s fearful screaming turn into a burst of laugher as the pair weaved and turned through the path of the railway. Nature swirled around them, leaving their surroundings whirling in a canopy of color. Judging by the unexpectedly fast speed the minecart was going, Tommy figured they would reach the embassy in another 5 minutes. Closing his eyes for a moment, Tommy breathed in lung-full of fresh petrichor and allowed himself to relax in the companionable silence, if only for a moment.

For if he had opened his eyes, he would have seen the gaping ocean of freedom on their left - stretching far as the eye could see into the blue open horizon; which was bitter in contrast with the ghost of betrayal in the sea of strife on their right- a line of smothering ash left behind in the midst of fire and panic.

The juxtaposition mocked them, a reminder of the storm that had ravaged L’manberg only months prior. 

It took the efforts of both Wilbur’s torn initiative, and Skeppy and Bad’s determination (neutrals who had just seen enough violence and wrath), to propose a temporary cease-fire. Too much blood has been spilled on the soil and the overwhelming taste of _hate_ was thick and arcid in the air so much so that people had forgotten when they were even fighting for in the first place. Negotiations were bitter but in the end, the lands had been split into thirds; the neutral grounds separating the two warring states like a trembling pillar of glass. 

(Tommy curled his lip as he remembered a man who once stood by their side, who had worn their uniform and who had shed blood for their land for...no _against_ the revolution. He went by King Eret nowadays. Too far in the heart of the enemy lands for them to do anything about it. It made Tommy’s blood boil just thinking about it.) 

But Tommy wasn’t scared of the traitorous scumbag. No, he could take down the bastard single-handled and all of L’manberg knew it. On a good day perhaps Tommy could take down George as well. The man was a follower, not a fighter. With his fellow brother’s help and plenty of fire resistance, Punz and especially Sapnap could be fallen as well. They were brute fighters. Alone, these three stood no chance. But bonded under a leadership, a mission and a thirst for blood, they thrived.

Because their leader was a terrible force of nature, a twisted psychopath and a nightmare incarnate. The face behind the war - the man behind the mask. 

Dream who started this bloody war just because L’manberg chose to have independence. Dream who tore apart the lands savagely with his pack of wolves just because he could. Dream who outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered and out-planned them over and over and _over_.

Dream who gave them no mercy, _no mercy at all._

(Tommy tried not to think of the prize possessions he had lost to guarantee his friends’ safety and their independence, nor did he reach under his shirt to feel the healing scar of the single arrow that struck and presented his downfall.) 

Oh how he hated the man. Oh how much he hated his very existence. If Tommy had the power, he would smite the green-hooded bastard on the spot. He would send down hellfire onto him and everyone he loved. He would stick a knife into his back when the little weasel least expected it. Tommy’s fingernails scraped roughly onto the cold rumbling steel as a hot wave of anger surged over him replacing the serenity that once was. 

_Oh how he wished he could just run Dream over with the very minecart he was sitting in right now._

Hah, wouldn’t that be such fine poetic justice? Wilbur would probably be so, so proud of him.

Said minecart turned abruptly across a rather sharp bend shoving Tommy out of his violent thoughts. A warm hand settled on his damp shoulder, steadying the boy and grounding him back into reality. Blinking his eyes against the rapidly falling rain in which he had been unaware of, Tommy turned around to steal a grateful look at Tubbo. The brunet, ever so observant, just smiled wordlessly, his brown eyes clouding knowingly. 

A pang of gratefulness welled up in his chest. Tommy would never know what to do without his best friend. Tubbo was his anchor and emotional support. If Wilbur was the brains, Fundy and Jack the arms and legs, Tubbo was the heart of the team. Tommy might tease, poke fun and bully his friend a little on occasion but at the end of the day, Tommy trusted Tubbo with everything he had and knew the boy had his back- always. 

So when Tubbo’s face dropped into one of shock and impending trepidation as they turned around another tight bend in the last third of a mile, Tommy felt the red flags in his leger rise all at once. Instinctively, he twisted his body forward once more

-only to see, there on his newly refurbished rails, slick with rain, in the blindspot of the incoming minecart- 

A very familiar figure standing just 10 feet away from them. 

_No, it couldn’t be._

A bolt of lightning illuminated the crying skies and purple netherite armor glittered against a splash of green.

_Dream?_

A flash of blond hair from where the man had spun around, only to face a minecart hurtling towards him at a speed of close to 50 miles per hour.

_5 feet._

_“Dream!”_ Tommy heard Tubbo screech in horror, his tinny voice carried away by the howling of the winds. Somewhere in his soul screamed at Tommy to do something, anything. But his hands were stuck and remained like led by his sides, unmoving and rigid and frozen- 

_3 feet._

In the very last second, everything slowed and the passage of time seemingly came to a sickening halt.

Tommy was close enough to see the white ceramic plate of his mask. That horrific, emotionless, godforsaken mask the man wore to cover his face each time he went into battle.

Dream raised his shield vainly, his body curled like a spring, preparing to jump into the safety of the waters below. 

But as their heartbeat pumped in terrified tandem, both faces of the war knew there would not be enough reaction time to prevent what was going to happen. In the last millisecond, Tommy swore he saw Dream’s life flash across his eyes behind the vintage of the dead smile. 

**_“DREAM WATCH OUT!!_ **-”

____

The last of the sun’s rays died into the horizon as night approached the lands. Darkness crept out of the cracks in the earth and the shadows grew long and wide. But still, the storm persisted.

Another crack of lightning split the skies and the rumbling of the elements shook the earth as George looked up for the umpteen time towards the covered entrance of their base. 

Watching.

Waiting. 

Worrying-

A hiss of frustration sounded on his left as Sapnap threw down the enchantment books in his arm and swiped his satchel of the table.

“That’s it, I’m going to look for him.”

Shoving away the ominous feeling of dread pooling in his gut, George quickly sidestepped and blocked the younger man from dashing headfirst into the storm. A growl left his friend’s throat and George watched as Sapnap curled his fingers into a tight fist.

“He’d never leave to hunt without me, nor go mining without Punz or exploring without you-”

“Look I’m worried too,” The older man cut in. “But there’s no point getting worked up over something that we have no control over.” Knowing how fiery Sap could get, George had to put a stop to his impromptu mission and quick. In the heat of his frustration that reflected his worry, everyone knew that the hunter would probably do something stupid and dangerous.

Like running blindly across their lands in the growing darkness of the setting sun _and_ in the pouring rain.

Sapnap would probably catch pneumonia or get attacked by mobs before achieving his wayward goal. 

“He’s decked out in netherite gear and armed to the teeth.” George spoke softly, the tremor in his words betraying his calm and collected nature. 

“For all we know, he probably holed himself somewhere safe to wait out the night and the rain.”

_“I’m sure Dream’s just fine.”_


	2. Of Revelations and Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I had quite a lot of fun writing the dramatic parallels and cuts between the past and post-war shenanigans that I probably overdid it but eh, creative liberties amirite. The second part of the chapter is where the story starts diverging greatly from what we consider ‘canon’. My creative juices are flowing double time, can I get a POG in chat? 
> 
> **TW:** Drowning, descriptions of blood and injury. 

* * *

_“Teach me to feel another’s woe. To hide the fault I see: That the mercy I show to others; that mercy also show to me.”_

_― Alexander Pope_

* * *

_“We... Are at **war**!” _

_Two sides of the battle faced their parallel foe. Their faces grim. Their weapons sheathed._

_Two figures stood at the end of the line. Twenty feet separated them; Though it felt like they were worlds apart._

_Two arrows whizzed through the air._

_Tommy missed._

_But the enemy didn’t._

_A cry of pain, a scream of horror, a shout of victory-_

____

A sickening crunch of metal against flesh.

Almost as if it were a terrible slow-motioned movie, Tommy could do nothing but watch as the man of his nightmares was savagely thrown forward against the cobblestone ledge by the force of 500 pounds of steel and sent plunging towards the ocean below. 

Blood splattered against the metal, warm and visceral and _real_ against Tommy’s frozen fingertips as the last evidence of the accident was immediately washed away by the rain. 

Mercilessly fleeing the scene of the crime, the minecart did not even lose its speed. 

____

_“And we have NO MERCY!_ **_NO MERCY FOR YOU!”_ **

_Explosions rang about their lands, tearing up the soil and turning stone to dust._

_The earth disappeared from under them, threatening to swallow the entire revolution whole._

_His friends fell around him as the walls of L’manberg came crumbling down._

_And the rivers ran red._

____

The ocean below ran red. 

It spread through the waves, beating against the storm, diluting the waters into a dark shade of scarlet. 

For all the chaos the storm around them had created, nothing was louder than the sound of silent horror that gripped the hearts of those who still remained standing.

The minecart came to a screeching halt, pulled to a stop unconsciously in the midst of sheer panic

“T-Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice was no louder than a squeak, trembling like the wind. 

A wave of ice spread through his chest, engulfing the boy’s very thoughts as Tommy stared aghast at the splattered crimson on his hand that was not his. 

“Tommy _what have we done?”_

____

In the days that came after the ceasefire, Tommy swore that he would do everything in his power to take down the people responsible for L’manberg’s devastation. Tommy spent hours envisioning the demise of the opposing side; The triumph that would ripple through their people when they emerged victorious, the thrill of adrenaline coursing through the nation’s veins and the warmful pride he would feel after he had slain each and everyone who stood in the way of their independence. 

But now, without even raising a single weapon, they had just slaughtered the leader of the opposition in a single-handed swoop. 

There was no mistake about it. No one could survive such a brutal crash or the fatal uncontrollable fall into the freezing depths of the seas.

Just like that, the battle lines were now drawn completely in their favour. 

L’manberg had essentially turned the tides of the war without any bloodshed on their side. 

This… This was just, _sweet_ sweet poetic justice.

_Wasn’t it?_

So why did Tommy feel nothing but pure and icy horror towards the consequences he had so personally delivered?

For the first time, as the right-hand man of L’manberg stood victorious against the setting sun, watching as the storm clouds dissipated like heralds of triumph, Tommy never felt so irrevocably confused and small and gui-

Then all at once, two things happened simultaneously.

Something flashed on the edge of his peripheral vision.

And Tubbo started shrieking like a dying banshee.

“Oh MY GOD. _T-Tommy look!”_

The younger boy latched onto his trembling wrist (wait when did it start to shake?), pulling Tommy to the edge of the broken cobblestone barrier. Gesturing wildly at a dark spot in the choppy ocean, Tubbo squinted as he temporarily lost his earlier discovery. 

Straining his eyes against the drizzle of rain, Tommy complied anyway; gazing down into the waters as an emotion he couldn’t place rose up his throat.

_There was no fucking way-_

“There! THERE!”

Two sets of eyes watched incredulously as a glimpse of purple against green could be seen struggling above the waves for a second before disappearing once more under a pool of red.

Gobsmacked, Tommy felt his jaw drop in disbelief because-

_Lord above. The green bastard was still alive._

____

Located just behind the forehead, the frontal lobe is the largest of four lobes in a human brain. That portion of the brain is arguably responsible for carrying out judgement, being the voice of reason and executing decisions in an individual. Most importantly, this rational part of the brain would not be fully developed till the age of twenty-five.

Tommy was sixteen. 

____

There was no conscious motivation, reason or meaning behind his course of action. It was just a sheer instinctual reaction that forced his body into movement. 

Tommy didn’t even know that he had made the leap of faith and physically dove over the edge until he was completely submerged. The frigid waters seeped into his bones, shocking him to the core. The sea salt stung his eyes, blurring his vision. The waves shoved at him carelessly, almost like a lost floating buoy. 

Yet he pushed on.

Against the light of the setting sun, smothered by the rainclouds, the ocean was a sea of black. Tommy could barely see five feet in front of him. Alas, as the final rays of light glimmered against the water, it struck gold.

The purple glow of enchanted armor shimmered like a decaying beacon, sinking silently into the depths of the sea. 

With blood roaring in his ears and adrenaline fueling his veins, Tommy dove after it. 

After _him_. 

In the darkness, the boy groped the water, jerking in surprise when fingertips brushed across strands of dirty blond hair. Scrambling for purchase, Tommy circled around and tried to hook his arms behind the drowning man, with intentions to kick and heave them both to the surface. 

See, despite his age, Tommy did his fair share of open-water diving. In fact he was considered quite a powerful swimmer amongst his friends and fellow brothers. He could hold his breath when necessary. And contrary to his seemingly scrawny nature, he was not weak by any standards. Tommy did take into consideration the 175 pounds of muscle he might have to drag out of the water. 

What he failed to regard was the weight of saturated netherite armor which held unrelentingly onto the dying man.

The very thing that had probably saved him from the first impact of the minecart was now going to be the cause of his demise.

All at once, luck finally ran out as his chest started to burn and Tommy realized with a jolt of panic that he was running out of air. 

He had two options; To let go and save himself, or stay and drown with the enemy.

A hysterical bubble of air left him as Tommy realized the unbelievable state he was in. Never in his life did he ever imagine himself caught in a scenario like this. 

Perhaps _it was never meant to be-_

A familiar set of arms came rushing into view. 

In a flash, Tommy’s hands were disentangled from his grasp on the deadweight and was bodily shoved aside. Hastily, the boy kicked and swam himself to the surface, lungs bursting for air; But not before stealing a single glance at the newcomer.

Tommy almost sucked in a breath of water in surprise.

With dexterous fingers, Wilbur made haste to locate the multiple clasps and leather straps trapping the man inside. As the tattered remains of netherite sank to the bottom of the ocean, the president of L’manberg twisted his body and mirrored his right-hand man's earlier pose. With the help of his newly enchanted depth striders, Wilbur kicked his way to the surface with ease. 

Tommy spluttered as his head broke the surface, seconds before his friend did. His cheeks flushed as a gust of wind blew across the water. The boy could really feel the cold now. Wilbur shot him a look of concern, both his arms cradling his newly found baggage.

Who was so, _so_ very still. 

_Ah fuck._

If that green scumbag died now all their efforts would be for naught.

“I-I’m ok!” The boy raised his voice over the gale. 

“Go help him instead!” 

Wilbur nodded and without sparing Tommy a second glance started swimming towards the direction of land at breakneck speed.

Frowning, Tommy would be lying if he didn’t feel a little disregarded. Wilbur really was not known to have a messiah complex, even less so for the enemy. Luckily, the boy was near enough to land that the tips of his shoes could touch the shallow sand on the seabed. Well barely. He still had to tread water. But he was definitely out of harm's way.

Land came quicker than he expected and almost on command, his knees buckled with exhaustion the moment he reached the darkened shoreline. Wet clothes clung to his shivering frame and Tommy winced as the sand stuck to his skin. 

God, once this was all over Tommy was going to personally light up every single corner of L’manberg himself. He was so fucking tired of pawing about in the dark. Perhaps he might also add glowstone or something to the ocean too while he was at it.

The boy arrived just in time to vaguely make out Wilbur turning their rescuee to his side as the latter started painfully retching and heaving up lungful after lungful of seawater onto the sand. The shadows of the trees swayed in the almost pitch-black surroundings as Will proceeded to firmly thump the man’s back, hands rubbing against the green-soaked hoodie with startlingly gentle ministrations.

What the fuck?

“Don’t just stand there!” His leader snapped at Tommy’s general direction, “Go get the regen potion from my dry pack. I stashed over beside the tree. Quick!” 

_What the fuck?_

Regeneration and health potions were frighteningly scarce and now even so after the first war. Was Wilbur really going to use their meager resources on D-

A horrible choking sound filled the clearing jerking Tommy back into attention. 

“He’s throwing up blood! Fuck, I think he punctured a lung-”

The winds howled, the clouds shifted and the darkness shattered.

Moonlight streamed freely through the leaves.

“Wait, this... _you aren’t Tubbo-”_

Tommy finally saw Wilbur’s face clearly for the first time. So he also saw the moment where Wilbur’s face flashed from concern to surprise and then to disbelief and utter denial before settling on a devastatingly blank slate.

“Tommy,” The low baritone of L’manberg’s president rumbled dangerously, cutting through the air like an arrow.

“Grab a torch, the potion and my sword from the pack… Now.”

Just like that, the entire events of the hour came rushing back to Tommy like a vivid wave of alarm; Fear at what he had done and horror at what was to come.

So, on trembling legs, what else could Tommy do but obey?

And at last, realization dawned onto Wilbur like a fist to the gut as a pair of unfocused green eyes met dark brown in the light of the dancing flame.

____

_Fire raged in the forest, the flames licking at the wood like the tongues of serpents. The enemy smiled down at them, dark and striking and cruel, silhouetted by the inferno he had created._

_The man behind the mask, flanked by his ever-loyal second-in-command, watched as the world fell around him. He didn’t even lift a finger to assist in the devastation._

_He didn’t need to._

_“I want to see_ **_WHITE FLAGS! WHITE FLAGS_ ** _outside your base, by tomorrow, at dawn-”_

_Emotionless green eyes scorched the soul of L’manberg._

_“Or you are_ **_DEAD!”_ **

____

The shimmering pink potion laid cruelly out of reach from behind a deadly diamond sword.

The L’manbergians stood by emotionlessly and watched. Ready to act as judge, jury and executioner. 

Dream looked on as a pool of crimson grew steadily around his broken form, staining the sands red. Each breath came out as a rattling wheeze as blood filled his throat. Waves of agony pulsated from his head, his chest, leg and shoulder. This was it. Miles away from help, there was truly no getting out of this one. Too weak to run but too prideful to beg; He would be defiant to his last breath. 

No mercy he had given his enemies. _And no mercy he would expect to receive._

A warped sense of resignation and acceptance settled over himself. Darkness crept over his mind and the last thing he saw were two sets of cold, dead eyes as Dream was plunged back into the mute of blackness.


	3. Of Risks and Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** From this point onwards, I kinda took what we know as 'canon' and tossed it away into a blast-furnace. Fair warning to those who expect otherwise.
> 
> Also, I realized I couldn't cramp everything into one last chapter as I first envisioned it to be. Does this mean I’ve about two to three more chapters left planned? Maybe? But will I be able to get it out in time before uni starts again? ~~Maybe not?~~
> 
> Anyways, this had to play as both an intermission and a slightly shorter filler chapter because I couldn’t fit the contents of the story and protective!george into this without going overboard with mad feels. Rest assured, he and the rest of the team will be making their glorious appearance again in the next installment! Once again, thank you all for the support, kudos and lovely comments. I appreciate each and every one of you! ^^ 
> 
> **TW:** Descriptions of blood, sickness and injury. 

* * *

_“One person can stop a great injustice. One person can be a voice for truth. One person’s kindness can save a life.”_

_― Nicky Gumbel_

* * *

The first rays of light danced onto the skyline, chasing away the dotting of the stars and washing away the storm of yesterday. At the crack of dawn, the house at the end of the neutral zone sizzled with frantic energy. The two lone occupants of the home rushed to and fro, chests opening and closing in tandem, hands rummaging through resources and shoving them onto rows of crafting tables. Glass bottles layered the table which was surrounded by golden nuggets, freshly harvested melon slices and a single ghast tear. 

From the other side of the room, the older man grabbed a handful of the remaining nether warts they had left. Balancing three water bottles with his other free hand, he turned to his companion, urgency bubbling alight in his words.

“You craft, I brew. Quick, we don’t have much time.”

Wordlessly, the younger man swiped the materials off the counter and immediately got to work. As the sun finally made its appearance from the edge of the horizon, three potions shimmered into existence: Two pink and one red. 

Securing the possessions into a bag, the older man rushed up the stairs to grab his jacket while his companion gathered food and water from storage to ensure that his friend had all he needed for his solo emergency journey. 

From the corner of his eye, his iron sword glittered forebodingly on their weapons rack and for a moment, the younger was sorely tempted to grab it and force it into his friend’s hands. But he knew where his companion would be going, and charging into foreign lands armed and alone would be suicidal.

The stakes were too high and one wrong move would rain chaos onto the earth once more. 

But this could very well be a trap. A trap planted by either side. He would not put it past the revolutionaries nor their neighboring nation’s people to pull something like this off. Treachery and lies wracked throughout the lands. Not even the neutral territories were spared. 

No one could be trusted anymore. 

A shuffle of feet alerted him to his friend’s return. Donned in his signature black coat, the older man nodded a brief word of thanks as he deposited his daily rations safely with his package of three and nodded. This was it. As the duo walked towards the entrance, the younger knew it was now or never. 

Spinning around so he was blocking the door, he blurted out rather abruptly, concern lining his voice. 

“Look, do you know what you’re doing?” 

“I was told to get the potions and meet them at The Embassy as soon as possible.” An impatient huff escaped the man. “Someone would probably escort me into their lands-”

“Let me rephrase that.” Pulling the sleeves of his blue jacket to his elbows, the younger held firm onto his friend’s shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

At once, the fight left the older man. Trembling hands held onto his own, rough fingers digging into his sleeves as if he was trying to summon up comfort. Silence filled the house as fear gripped the hearts of two at the world of uncertainties looming ahead of them.

“When his people find out, and they _will_ ,” A shaky voice quivered weakly in the air between them.

“L’manberg would be but a crater in the ground.”

“And this time, I wouldn’t be able to play mediator between the two nations. Because there would be nothing left to save.”

Emotions curled tightly in his chest and slowly, the tight grip on his blue jacket was loosened. The younger watched helplessly as his friend visibly straightened and set his face firmly into a mask of determination.

“I just know that I’m not letting anyone die while we stand around with the very resources to help.”

Without a second glance back, the older man pulled his black hood over his head and scampered out of the house and headed north; where his only two witnesses were his best friend’s worried gaze and the dying shadows of the night. 

____

He was in hell. He had to be. A place specially designed for him in the afterlife where he’ll burn for eternity; damned for his sins against his people and for the war that he had personally set alight onto the earth around him. 

His body ached and trembled as if it was being consumed by lava, eyes glued shut by the vicious heated liquid. In the darkness, he struggled to find a water source as fire roared in his veins. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that he could not remember tasting before. Maybe it was seawater. Maybe it was blood. Maybe it was-

Rough hands grabbed his face as someone tried to force something down his throat again for the second time. 

Panic scorched a path through his heat-riddled mind as fingers pried open his mouth and a heavy foreign weight was pressed against his collarbone. With a surge of adrenaline, he struck out with his left arm and trashed about desperately; trying with all his dwindling strength to get away, _getawaygetaway_

“Fuck! Someone hold him down!”

“-bleeding all over the place, how is he still so strong?!”

“We’re out of our element here. Where is Ba-”

“S-Stop! St-” His plea was left unheard as his voice gave out into a raspy cough that sent tendrils of pain twisting up his chest. Warm liquid spilled from his lips as he retched again; his throat refusing to keep anything down. _He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe!_

_They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him again-_

“Oh my _God.”_ A new voice rang out in the panic of the chaos as his body was wracked by violent convulsions.

“Hands off! He’s throwing them up! Let go! Stop! **_STOP!_ **”

At once, pressure on his limbs and face were released. He barely registered himself being shoved to his side before he could suffocate on bile, blood and bitterness. The unexpected movement jarred his already weakened body and awoke fresh wounds and

_Agony_.

It shredded the edges of his soul and engulfed his very sanity. Every bone, every nerve, every cell was ignited with the force of a thousand suns. A scream tore itself out of his abused and bloody throat as his heart struggled vainly against the battle he was destined to lose.

“-unpowder now!”

“-eed splash potions…”

"-et the **_fuck OUT_** -"

_It was too much. It was too much for him to take-_

____

Glass shattered thunderously against the ground as pink merged with red and swirled up into the air like a cloud. The hum of magic howled above broken keening like the echo of a crying spirit; seeping slowly into marred and broken skin.

The body on the bed jerked once, twice and then went frighteningly still. 

Silence hung in the air; heavy, cruel and uncertain. 

The only thing Wilbur could feel was the treacherous pounding of his heart and the paralyzing shock that rippled through his body as he bore witness to the events that had unfolded in front of his very eyes. 

The blood staining his hands had not even dried yet. 

“If you believe in any God, Soot," A soft, dangerous voice broke the silence abruptly. "You better start praying to Him now.” 

Knelt on the ground with one hand resting on the pulse-point of Dream’s lifeless form, Bad spat out from between his clenched teeth in an uncharismatic show of frustration and helplessness; The last hour of worry, stress and pressure threatening to push the neutral over the edge. 

“Because the future of everyone under this very roof _depends on it.”_

And as the dust settled onto the fragments of shards that littered the ground and the air stilled with the lingering scent of death, all of L’manberg waited with bated breaths as their lives hung in the balance with the fate of their greatest enemy.


	4. Of Truth and Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This story is growing out of control but then again the plot ran away from me ages ago. If this fic ends up being 10 chapters long please stay with me till the end okay? Again, I apologize for the delay in updates. Uni's destroying my will to live. I'll be damned if I have to sit through another godforsaken zoom lecture again.
> 
> Also, I leave for a week and a half to finish up my projects and suddenly L’manberg’s in ruin, Wilbur and Tommy are on the run, Schlatt’s a tyrannical dictator and Technoblade’s joined the SMP? What the actual heck??? I'm living for more dramatics and bits yessir???
> 
> Anyways, let me tell ya’ll about the fucking adrenaline rush I had while typing 4K worth of words in this chapter at 2am in the morning. I’m genuinely shaking. What have I done?

* * *

_“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves”_

_\- Confucius_

* * *

The late afternoon sun shimmered through the trees and reflected off the single purple glow of netherite armor as a lone figure dashed into the trees for cover, ducking under a shower of arrows. Five seconds later, two shadows prowled the undergrowth, weapons unsheathed and eyes sharp on the lookout. Across the thick foliage of the forest, leaves rustled and twigs crackled, snapping the pair of hunters back into red alert. 

“He couldn’t have gone far.” The first hunter hissed venomously, picking up their paces with urgent haste. 

“Faster George!” 

The man in question winced as a low-hanging branch sliced his cheek open but did not falter in his impromptu manhunt. Keeping pace with his raven-haired friend, George pulled out his crossbow strapped onto his back and loaded an arrow in preparation for what was about to come again. 

Alas, in mid-movement, both of them heard the ominous tell-tale sounds of multiple potions being chugged down in rapid progression in the general direction of their chase. 

“Shit, he has potions!” Skidding to an abrupt halt, George barely managed to grab his companion’s arm and dragged him to a stop, sensing the new danger they were going to run into.

“He’s going to get away!” Snarling, the younger man twisted in his grip violently as he heard the footsteps of their prey ebbing away. “Fucking hell! Let go of me!”

“Sapnap, stop. We have to rethink this.” Refusing to relinquish his hold on his friend, George struggled to keep his mind clear and calm. The unknown variables were increasing by the second and lacking any sort of strategy, they could not afford to go on a fatal wild-goose chase. Far from the safety of their own territory and off on their own, their team was split far too thin already. 

To make matters worse, though they had brought their own enchanted weapons, both of them had just run out of speed pots and were only clad in a mixture of unenchanted diamond and iron armor. George was not able to get a good look at their fleeing hunt but the brunet knew that the enemy was in full enchanted netherite accompanied with a matching sword. 

Netherite was a sure-proof way of securing complete bodily protection and heavy on the defense. Nevertheless, its downsides came with it being insanely heavy and ironically cumbersome. The first time George had put on his primary set, he had almost keeled over with the weight; underestimating the sheer bulk of the protective armoring. Realistically, even with swiftness in their system, patrolling half their lands in them, under the blazing hot sun, would have been a recipe for disaster. 

But right now, George was sorely regretting not securing himself up with it instead. He did not need to ask his friend to know that Sapnap was too sharing similar thoughts. 

Who knew that they would stumble upon a lone L’manbergian so far from the path looking over the ocean which blocked off most of his available routes? Who knew that said L’manbergian had suddenly managed to obtain such powerful resources? Who knew that they would rashly give blind chase to obtain any little information they could - even from the enemy? 

_Who knew that they all gotten so fucking desperate for answers they had yet to obtain?_

“We don’t know what we are up against.” Shaking himself out of his stupor, George reiterated with every ounce of authority he could muster; He had been doing that quite a lot recently - with various degrees of success. “For all you know he might have swiftness and ultimately outrun us, invisibility, or even worse, strength pots.”

“ _So?_ ” Snatching his arm free, Sapnap hissed dangerously between clenched teeth, breaths coming in fast, heated pants. His fingers twitched sporadically, almost maniacally around the hilt of his weapon, voice lowering into an animalistic growl. 

“I could take down the little weak bastard where he stood. Strength or _no strength_.” 

For a moment, George was almost afraid that Sapnap would whip out his sword and take _him_ down in a fit of his rage instead. But he refused to stand down against the insanity, fear and chaos that had consumed his entire faction in the span of the last 50 hours. 

Just thinking about it made George sick with worry for both the future of his friends and their reigning kingdom.

“We have no proof of anything. Starting a battle we might lose would not help anyone.” His voice of reason was the only thing that they could fall back on now. 

(George would not be able to keep up this facade of calm if _another_ one of his closest friends failed to return home that night again.)

“He’s probably halfway across L’manberg by now. Engaging him by ourselves on his own home turf would be suicidal and you know it.”

It must have then dawned on Sapnap that they had been running for some time because the younger man jerked in realization much to the brunet’s relief. Fifteen yards ahead of them stood the edge of the neutral zone in the opening of the emerging treeline bordered by a single impartial house. The older man considered walking up to it and knocking to see if the homeowner had seen any suspicious activity. However, George had never actually wandered too far into this part of the lands before. Thus, he was not sure who actually owned said house. But by the looks of the pulled blinds and the darkened interior, he thought against it. There was probably no one home anyway.

If anything, George was more concerned about the knowledge getting out to the public. The neutral’s grapevine whispered quickly and he would be damned if _they found out._

Silently, the second watched with a heavy heart as his friend visibly deflated. Defeat clouding his eyes, the raven-haired man gazed bitterly into the lands beyond them. The elephant in the room hung like a fog, consuming their minds and freezing their hearts in sync.

“D-Do you think…” Sapnap’s voice trembled, barely a whisper in the wind; All his previous unhinged fury and anger melting away like ice thawing in the first heat of spring. 

“George- Do you think _they_ have him?”

It was as if a jolt of lightning had hit him square in the heart as George flinched violently at the sheer, _absurd_ possibility of that ever happening. 

“No.” He blurted out sharply, firmly- instinctually. He was unable to even bring himself to entertain the mere _thought._

“We haven’t checked the nether yet.” The image of his closest friend, his leader- Dream bleeding, lost and alone in enemy territory terrified George to the very core. No, no he had to believe that Dream was somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

_Anywhere but there._

“Who knows?” A tired but determined sigh left him. “Maybe our industrious leader had decided to go AWOL and make base in the middle of that soul-sand valley we discovered last week.”

That got a half-hearted smile from his friend. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes though. 

George closed his eyes for a second, pulling himself together and purging all insidious thoughts from his brain. He had to pull himself together. He couldn’t fail now. Not when they were so close. Turning to Sapnap who had grown uncharacteristically quiet and unfocused, deep in thought himself, the brunet decided to take charge again for a change. 

“Let’s regroup with the rest of the search party.” He muttered, patting his dear friend’s shoulder with stifled reassurance. “I think we left Punz and the rest behind at the edge of the shoreline where we first spotted Tu-.”

In the distance, without warning, a striking beam of light shot up into the sky. A second later, the light sheen of blue was overlapped with glaring crimson. 

An emergency beacon had been lit - one by their very faction. Judging by the location, it was from the rough direction of the coast.

Exchanging knowing glances at the glaring signal, the pair broke into a run without exchanging a single word; back the way they first came. 

Punz and the rest had found something. 

____

Safely behind locked doors, he watched in the darkness of his home as the two figures grew further and further before disappearing behind the edge of the forest. The house was silent, the air still, the only ambient noise was the soft whirling of his brewing stands working by the double as they had for the last two or so consecutive days. 

Skeppy waited for another five minutes in passing before daring to break the silence and lighting up a single torch. A sigh of pure relief escaped him as the interior glowed back to life, illuminated by the flame. 

“The coast is clear.” He whispered into the darkness despite the danger that had just passed.

“They’re gone, you can come out now.”

And from the darkest corner of the house, young Tubbo peered out warily from behind the largest cabinet. The L’manbergian’s fearful brown eyes darted towards the door almost in anticipation for it being blown off its hinges or something drastic like that - and honestly, after that entire bloody debacle, Skeppy could not possibly blame the poor kid at all.

Because fuck, _that was way too close for comfort._

“It’s safe I swear.” The older man repeated slowly, inching towards the terrified boy who had yet to shed his stifling armor or release his white-knuckled grip on the weapon. 

“George did look at the direction of the house but he didn’t make a single move towards it at all.” Another pause. “They have no idea that you’re here at all.”

Still, Tubbo remained trapped in the same moment of terror - stuck in the same defensive position he had maintained for the last minute. It was like the neutral wasn’t even there. 

By the looks of the thin particles flicking off Tubbo’s clammy skin, whatever potions that were still circulating in his veins had not run out yet. Skeppy wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t about to rush up to an individual who wasn’t in the right frame of mind and risk getting impaled by a netherite sword. But as cruel as it was, Skeppy needed the boy to snap out of it- and fast. 

Reaching behind him without taking his eye off the L’manbergian, the older man palmed around his workbench till his fingers closed around the neck of several glass bottles shimmering with outworldly liquid. 

“Look, I have three more bottles of invisibility, swiftness and strength II pots.” The gentle clinking that emitted from the aforementioned potions brought out the first visible reaction from his guest as Tubbo flinched, jerking himself back into awareness. Encouraged, Skeppy pushed on.

“I will stand by to defend you if needed.” He took a bold step forward, non-threatening and calm. “Come back to me, pleas-” 

The sound of a sword clattering onto the wooden flooring resounded through the clearing, cutting off his words and at once, a flash of purple surged forward, throwing himself desperately at Skeppy like a touch-starved animal. A soft breath of surprise left the older man as Tubbo started to tremble and sob in his arms; the stress and uncertainty of the last day proved too much for him to handle. 

Skeppy’s chest clenched painfully as he held the boy close to his chest and tried to channel as much support and strength he could through touch alone. A myriad of bitter emotions rushed through his heart - helplessness for the shit that the L’manbergians had gotten themselves into, pure frustration towards the other warring faction who had clearly shown today that they would shoot first and talk later, and unadulterated rage at how fucking _pointless and miscommunicated_ this entire situation had become. 

After Bad’s departure more than 48 hours ago, L’manbergians had been suddenly making their appearances unexpectedly at their shared home. The first time Fundy appeared unannounced, decked out in maximum armor and sizzling with chaotic energy, Skeppy had almost taken his head off in fright. Then Jack and Niki arrived slinking in later in the day. Each came with instructions from Bad and left the same way they came with splash potions of healing, regeneration and a potion of invisibility for safe travels. And it was then where Skeppy had finally gotten to know the long and short of the story. 

Describing it as a clusterfuck would be a miserable understatement. 

Sure Dream was a crazed warlord who blew up half of L’manberg and Sapnap threatened to reduce their lands to ashes but both Wilbur and Tommy were by no means innocent by a long-shot as well. They did their fair share of griefing, instigating border skirmishes and unprovoked attacks against their opposing side; They could only play the ‘victim’ card because of their younger and greener members. The neutral had long lost track of what they were fighting for (Independence? Freedom? A bunch of discs?) and he was almost positive that the warning nations had forgotten as well. But the sunk-cost fallacy has been delivered as such. Too much has been invested in this war that has lost all meaning for any side to give up now. 

The sides of the war were now blurring into greying lines of uncertainty and Skeppy hated every moment of it.

But now, the longer Dream remained -unbeknownst to his faction, in the heart of L’manberg territory, the more deadly the consequences would be for Wilbur and his people. From the number of pots he was distributing out, Skeppy could roughly estimate the state of the opposing faction’s leader; It was probably pretty fucking bad. 

If Dream succumbed to his wounds under Wilbur’s care and the message got out to his people, Skeppy would have to relocate into his underground bunker because the land above would become completely uninhabitable, ravaged with a second war in the name of vengeance for their dead leader. 

On the other hand, If Dream lived, he would most likely break free or send a message of some sort back to his people - Skeppy once underestimated Dream’s capacity to survive, he would not make the same mistake again - And under their leader’s command, George and Sapnap would blindly reduce the nation to bedrock in his wake of revenge for withholding the situation from them in the first place. 

Either way, L’manberg was truly, utterly fucked. 

And judging by Tubbo’s current state, as he narrowly escaped death by two enemies on the hunt for answers, Skeppy knew the boy knew it too.

(There was a third option though: It involved hostage situations and leverage over the enemy using said leader but they would never stoop so low to do such a desperate, ruthless act of immorality- not when they have burnt through that many resources already. There was no way Wilbur would go through with that.

Right?)

Gently, the older man grasped onto armored-clad wrists, unwrapping the distraught teen from where he was attached to his waist and forcing Tubbo to look at him in the eye. If it were up to him, Skeppy would have wrapped the sixteen-year-old in a burrito of blankets and tucked him safely into the softest bed he could find. Perhaps if it was up to him, he would too drag George and Wilbur up by the ear to make them _just fucking communicate for crying out loud_! But he could not find it in himself to sugarcoat the severity of the bitter situation. At the end of the day, there was really nothing Skeppy could do, short of a damn miracle, that would change the outcome of what was going to inevitably happen.

A tear-streaked face blinked back at him and Skeppy almost regretted the next words he blurted out as a cruel greeting. 

Alas, if the ominous beacon painting in the sky red meant anything, it was clear that time was of the very essence. A matter of life or death if he would.

“Tubbo... Is _he_ alive?” 

The boy’s breath hitched sharply, eyes pooling with a fresh set of tears. 

Skeppy’s heart plummeted to the ground.

____

The broken piece of white porcelain smiled back at him like a grotesque work of art. Covered with a thin sheen of dried blood, it was a cruel mockery of its former owner. 

Another wave lapped over it gently, washing the mask further against the shoreline. It came to a stop at the base of his foot; its final destination. 

Falling to his knees, he cradled it between trembling palms- barely registering the way the seawater soaked into his clothes. Surrounded by his remaining faction, he held the singular piece of evidence that sealed their enemy’s fate. A gift from the ocean’s last witness. 

An enraged scream sounded from his back, Sapnap’s cry of anguish echoing into the vastness of the open waters. Punz gathered up the broken pieces of netherite and other familiar items scattered onto the beach on muscle memory alone, eyes blank in disbelief. Karl and Eret exchanged defeated glances- both gazing hopelessly at their new de facto leader who had gone eerily silent and still.

There was a name to this unexpected feeling threatening to consume him. It swam in the rush of time as all went slow and blood roared in his ears. It emerged deep from the depths of his core and clawed itself to the surface. It screeched, loud and alive through the rush of pure adrenaline surging, bubbling and churning through George’s veins. 

**_Wrath._ **

____

_A gentle breeze kissed his cheeks, jolting him back into consciousness that he was not aware he lost. Vaguely, he could feel the dampness of sand soaking through his waterlogged jeans as another wave of seawater lapped at his shoes-_

_Wait what?_

_Dream opened his eyes, jerking himself abruptly into full awareness._

_The dark sky greeted him above, stars twinkling in open welcome. The ocean spanned towards the horizon on his left and the familiar walls of his kingdom laid on his right; Further up behind the bed of the hill, laid the badlands hidden from view._

_He was alone in the dead of night._

_Frowning, Dream struggled to recall the events that had led up to this point and where he was. He prided himself on excelling in both navigational and spatial awareness. His memory too was unparalleled to many- it was literally the very thing that had saved him a plenty from many tight spots in his life._

_So when he came up empty, his mind frighteningly blank as the day he was born, Dream felt his heart tremble to a sickening stop._

_What happened?_ **_What the fuck happened?_ **

_Giving himself a hasty look-over in the midst of his spiraling panic, Dream realized the startling absence of any physical injuries on his form. His vision was clear, his mind lucid and his skin untouched._

_Huh, somehow he had gotten out of his unexpected excursion into the ocean unscathed._

_But then his gut clenched forebodingly as he realized with a rush of concern that, not only was he armourless and weaponless but that he was maskless as well._

_Ever since an uneasy truce held the two nations at a stalemate, Dream never left his base without donning a protective cover of iron and stashing a dagger into his boot at minimum. His mask was now almost a part of his face now, seeing how often he wore it the moment he stepped foot out of the base. Without it, he felt ironically exposed and bare to the world. Now add that to his questionable amnesia and the unknown situation he found himself in, red flags and flashing alarms were shooting up crimson by the double in his brain._

_Something was missing. Something was very,_ **_very_ ** _wrong._

_Pulling himself together, Dream hissed out a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding in and squashed down the impending rise of terror and fear that started to crawl up his throat. Calm. He had to remain calm. Freaking out and running around aimlessly in the dark would only make matters worse for himself._

_He needed answers. And he needed them now._

_George. George and Sapnap and the rest of his people would know what had happened. Perhaps they had answers on how he had ended up alone on a deserted beach, defenseless and frighteningly near L’manberg’s territory- with absolutely no recollection of how he had gotten there._

_With determination surging through his veins, Dream started jogging in the general direction where he knew the wooden pathway of the main roads would be. His consistent pace turned into a steady run. Before he knew it, Dream was sprinting over the fields, leaping over stones and flying across the undergrowth. He only had one aim in mind: To go back home._

_Behind him, the shoreline grew smaller and smaller. Until it disappeared behind him into a fog of darkness._

_Left in his wake, however, the sand left no footprints, the dirt remained untrampled on and the grass swayed undisturbed in the gentle night breeze; The earth left no evidence of his awakening._

_And in the distance, with the echoes of shattered glass, the first sounds of war erupted onto the battlefield._


	5. Of Kings and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** This chapter fought me tooth and nail but I finally got it out *pumps the air in relief* 
> 
> Also non-linear, foreshadowing plotlines are my jam. It's a little more difficult and it requires me to actually sit down and plan out the chapter but eh I do love challenges. I have officially confirmed that there would be more or less 8 chapters in total. So we are at the rough halfway mark of the story! POG! Also, muffins for all who get the multiple easter eggs and references scattered around in this one!
> 
> Now buckle up guys. It all goes down here.
> 
>  **TW:** Mentions of blood and injuries. 

* * *

_“We want our leaders to save the day_

_But we don't get a say in what they trade away_

_We dream of a brand new start_

_But we dream in the dark for the most part.”_

_―Hamilton | The Room Where It Happens_

* * *

The first story of insurrection that was ever told to him went something like this: 

Once there ruled a just and righteous king. He served his people well and in turn, they respected him with fervent glory. In the lands of the free, the king believed that his nation would progress if the people worked hard for their reward and were rewarded for their hard work. After all, generations ago his family had started off as lowly farmers and peasants themselves, working their way up the ladder of succession. Thus, he had taken it upon himself to bring his kingdom to greater heights through blood, sweat and tears. 

Under the king’s leadership, his people thrived. They took to the skies and seas; flying on wings of elytras and swimming in waters of molten gold. Mastercrafters scaled castles and built walls to keep their citizens safe, warriors patrolled under the night skies and hunters kept the nation fed. Under the reign of this king- this _God_ \- they were flourishing, they were unstoppable. 

They were invincible. 

Or so they _thought_.

No one knew what had happened or how it had happened. There were just no words or clever quotes to neatly summarize what had happened that day. One moment, the people were united; laughing and playing in the fields, and in the next, the lands had transformed into a battlefield by the uprising of the rebellion. The revolutionaries mercilessly overthrew the king in a single-handed swoop and banished him to the underworld; where he was to remain burning for eternity. His swine and bastards scattered, exiled by the very people who they used to serve.

“Well.” The leader of the rebellion had smiled; fierce and dark and cruel. 

“That was pretty easy.”

Standing high atop the hillock, flanked by a pair of his most loyal followers against the glare of the setting sun, the new king looked down towards his conquered land and upon the fearful citizens who trembled under his fiery gaze. 

“You listen to me!” His voice rang above the chaos, beckoning _his_ nation to listen, to conform, to bow. 

“This place will be a lot different tomorrow.”

_“Let’s start making it happen.”_

The sun wakes, the sun sets. People come, people go. Oceans rise, empire falls. It was the catalyst that started the circle of life, death, oppression, tyranny, freedom and liberty. 

Folding his arms a little tighter around his chest, diligent in his watchful vigil, Tommy liked to think he was currently experiencing a sick, twisted parody of the fable Wilbur had shared with him; except he wasn’t sure which role he was currently playing. These days, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

The shadows grew long and dark; stretching out onto the windowless walls of the large bunker lighted by a single Redstone torch. Bad laid slummed at the base of the lone bed set in the middle of the empty clearing- exhausted after close to three full days of sleepless nights. And there, the fallen king laid. Still and silent and unmoving. The only proof of life was the spasic twitches of his eyes moving behind close lids and the slow rise and fall of his bandaged chest.

Up and down. Slow and steady. _Alive._

For L’manberg, however, it was but a cursed miracle. 

____

_“I need splash potions of healing and regend. Now!”_

_No one moved. No one dared to breathe._

_“What are you waiting for? Get the_ ** _fuck_** **_OUT_** _!”_

_The sound of a door slamming against the barricade of obsidian after the surprising profanity echoed through the corridor, finally shaking the faction out of their stupor. In the darkness, three people scattered with haste, each with their own mission to support a dying cause. Nevertheless, two figures remained left behind, stunned and speechless; their clothes stained with rainwater, dirt and blood- blood that was not of their own._

_“I-I thought-” L’manberg’s president whispered to the shadows of the night, frozen in a daze of adrenaline and uncertainty, “I thought he was Tubbo-”_

_“Well, you were very, very wrong.” It came out emotionlessly and deadpan, his right-hand man's shaken gaze still pinned almost catatonically onto the entrance of the room where a neutral remained in the secured bunker in his last desperate act to save a life._

_“But...You-you knew!” His leader spluttered aghast, his face flashing from rage to frustration and then to utter confusion._

_“Tommy, why the fuck then did you jump in after him?”_

_“Oh, you’re two for two Wilbur.” Distantly in the fog of suspended animation, Tommy heard himself yelling back hysterically, unwilling to let himself be washed over by guilt and to shoulder the sole consequence of their impossible act of mercy._

_“Why the fuck did_ **_you_ ** _decide to both spare him and bring him back_ **_here_ ** _-”_

____

The minute cracks in the amethyst walls and the scorch marks against the bark of redwood trees might be the only evidence of the great war that had passed, but the very fact remained: L’manberg indeed had felt the wrath of their opposition. Tommy would know oh too well; For he too bore the scars of its consequence- the reminder tattooed permanently against his skin. Thus, he was well and truly mindful of the fact that Dream was _not_ a force to be reckoned with. The man was always two-steps in front of them and two-plans ahead of them. He was a God among men, invincible and untouchable.

But now… _look how the mighty have fallen._

The storm raging in him screamed at Tommy mercilessly. It was a fierce reckoning for attention, for vengeance, for justice. How easy would it be to just whip a sword from the weapon’s rack, stick the weapon into the man’s gut and watch him bleed out in a flash? How easy would it be to just toss a potion of weakness onto the bed and watch as he went silently the same way he came in? How easy would it be to put down the enemy as he laid, vulnerable, hurt and open- just like a rat in a mousetrap?

For the moment they brought the broken and bleeding form of Dream back to their heartland, Tommy knew that his people all knew: L’manberg was going to enter another face of war. It was only a matter of time. Time that was not on their side.

So what was the point of keeping prisoners?

Unconsciously, Tommy allowed his eyes to trail over the body of his nemesis.

Funnily enough, the man of his nightmares wasn’t covered with gruesome scars nor did he have devilish horns like Tubbo once expected him to have on the top of his skull. In fact, without the protection of his armor and mask, lying silently on the large bed, the leader of the opposition actually looked comically small, truly defenseless and strangely… ordinary. 

Dream just looked like another one of them; His face bruised and bloody- open for the world to see.

The right-hand man of L’manberg was looking at the sheer proof that confirmed that he was failable, he could be brought down and that Dream was very much _human_.

(Tommy would also die before admitting that he had felt deeply uncomfortable by the mere act of looking at the man’s exposed face as he lay in deep slumber. It was as if he was committing a crime that did not exist)

Clenching his fingers into tight fists that had not stopped trembling for the past three days, Tommy, however, refused to feel sorry for Dream- shoving throbbing and unacknowledged emotions back into the deepest, darkest corners of his consciousness.

 _It wasn’t his fault. It_ **wasn’t**. Dream was just there at the worst place and at the worst time. That was all. **_That was all._ **

The purposeful reminder circled his brain like a mantra as Tommy refused to allow himself to feel. 

He would not. _He could not._

Because L’manberg finally had the high ground against their foes. They had a prime bargaining chip lying at their feet for the last three days. They had full-proof leverage. For _fucks sake_ , _they literally had Dream as their bloody hostage_. And by looking at the extent of his injuries, the man wouldn’t be getting up to escape anytime soon. 

Tommy knew that if they played his cards right, he could bring the enemy’s faction to his knees; Because they all knew that George would do anything for his leader. _Anything_.

But then again, a desperate man with nothing to lose was a _dangerous man._

History had taught them a lesson and ignited them alight with fire. As they crawled from the ashes of failure, they swore on their lives that L’manberg would not be caught off-guard and unprepared like that ever again. This time... _this time, they would be ready._

Thus, Wilbur was currently with Niki re-enchanting and reinforcing their newly acquired gear sets and netherite weapons while Fundy and Jack Manifold left to gather last-minute resources to build up their fortifications for what was to come indefinitely. Tubbo was due to return with new potions from Skeppy and they were to rendezvous back within the walls before dusk to bring everyone up to date and to finalize their defense strategies. This left Tommy to hold down their base and monitor their _guest_ as the boy was left stewing with a single taunting, unanswered question:

_Why weren’t they utilizing their advantage?_

(Deep down, though, they all knew the reason why. It remained unspoken in their heart; refusing to be spilled like the blood that stained their floors)

Nevertheless, Bad’s medical implementations must have been starting to take effect because the superficial bruises and cuts that had dotted broken skin had begun to scab over. Even the deepest laceration that spanned from Dream’s right collarbone towards his sternum - torn open by a broken piece of netherite during the fall, had closed; the tightly bound bandages across the man’s chest remaining white and clean. 

The presence of what had been several fractured ribs and a suspected punctured lung had been worrying at first- not to mention the large gash trailing across his temple and disappearing into his hairline. Fortunately, with the number of splash potions of healing and regeneration they had been dosing the man with, his wounds had not gotten infected and were actually healing pretty well. In fact, if Tommy could be honest with himself for the first time in a long time, looking past the stitches and unending bandages he was wrapped in, Dream just looked like he was sleeping peacefully. He didn’t look as dead as he had looked days prior. 

But that was where the crux of their problem persisted. 

How could they do any negotiations of any sort if Dream wasn’t waking up?

___

_“Why isn’t he regaining consciousness?” Wilbur’s voice hissed from the side of the clearing. Footsteps sounded from behind, silent and forebodingly. Someone started to pace the ground impatiently. From his corner of the room, Tommy blocked it out. He has been doing quite a good job of living in denial these few days- trapped in his own bubble of safety and simulated ignorance._

_He focused on the cool tap water running through his fingertips._

_He focused on getting rid of the stains on his palm- wait no he got them out days ago didn’t he?_

_He focused on scrubbing away the crimson from the underside of his nails that just blatantly refused to go-_

_“It has almost been two days.” Wilbur continued, undeterred by the sickening silence. “Are the potions not working?”_

_Tommy’s skin was turning red from the force of his valiant efforts._

_“Bad, just tell me what I must do.” A tinge of desperation leaked out of his leader’s voice unexpectedly. “I can get my men to get more medical supplies from your place again. I’ll send Tubbo out in the morning. He’s the fastest runner among us-”_

_Tommy’s hands were clean. They were clean. They were clean._

_“Wilbur I- Listen.” Bad spoke out for the first time, cutting the president short; his voice rough, body weary._

_“I’ve made a... calculated risk. One of which I thought would allow us to reap a better outcome.”_

_Tommy stopped breathing._

_His leader made a non-committed sound, urging Bad to continue._

_“I stitched up whatever physical wounds I could and used potions to counter internal injuries left unaccounted for.” The neutral smiled bitterly, his eyes clouding and unreadable. “Because I knew without the pots, his heart would have given out from either shock, blood-loss or p-pain.”_

_And it was at that very breaking point where Tommy abruptly remembered the twisted position that Bad was in. Dream might be their sworn enemy but he was still… an ally - a friend to the neutral._

_Suddenly the thought of Tubbo, bleeding out on the ground and Tommy having to shoulder the weight of saving his best friend, alone, manifested in the darkest part of his mind._

_The bitter irony made Tommy physically sick to his stomach._

_As he looked away to glance into the mirror, Tommy made direct eye-contact with Wilbur. For a split second, he swore he could still feel tangible warmth oozing through his fingers._

_“Thus, in spite of his head wound, I made the decision to dose him in as many potions as humanly possible to keep him unconscious...to heal-” The horrible crack of emotion was sharp and visceral as Bad’s voice shattered like the fragments on the ground; his surprising confession shaking the room to the core._

_“S-So if he did slip away in the night, he wouldn’t go i-in... agony-”_

___

Pain erupted from his right hand, shocking Tommy back into reality. The obsidian walls that his fists had just been acquainted with were barely scuffed- but that could not be said the same for his knuckles. The stinging discomfort ratted him from the inside out, shaking the boy into sharp awareness. Raising his hand to his face, Tommy watched, almost in a twisted mesmerized way as blood oozed out from torn skin, mirroring the violent bubble of emotions spilling out deep from within him- 

Ragefrustration _angerhopelessnessworryfear_ ** _guilt-_ **

And In that very instance, Tommy stared in horror as his hands were once again painted crimson with Dream’s blood. 

Red red _red_ ** _redead_ **

___

_The bloody beacon carrying his faction’s sign glowed into the night sky, illuminating Dream’s vision with a deadly scarlet hue that brought the man to an abrupt stop._

_Huh, that wasn’t lit a second ago._

_And especially not with that alarming color._

_Frowning, Dream shielded his eyes away from the light, trying to reorientate himself again. Facing south down the wooden path he took a good look at his surroundings for the first time since he had started his midnight marathon back to base. Dream could roughly gauge the location of where he currently was; above the hills in front of him would be The Embassy and the market area which would span all the way towards Punz’s place, the community house and their base of operations. Behind him laid Skeppy and Bad’s place, neutral territory, and the edge of L’manberg’s uncharted lands._

_But somehow his surroundings seemed… foreign. There was just something about it that Dream couldn’t wrap his finger around. If he looked hard enough, the man would notice that there were small changes and minute alterations to the landscape around him; An extra tree that had not been there before, new structures that had sprung up overnight, empty crops fields that were once filled-_

_No. There was no way. Bathed in a wash of red, everything just looked extra different at night. With his, hopefully, short-term amnesia still in play, perhaps Dream was just overlooking and overthinking it all. Besides, he couldn’t afford to lose track of his aim now. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Dream doubled-back to his first point of notice._

_There were different colors that they used on beacons in the case where the faction was separated and needed the means to communicate. George and Sapnap had personally spent half a day organizing the signal lights themselves. Dream himself had officialized it by instructing them to utilize and head it respectively when necessary._

_Blue and white were used for generic location marking for future references. Pink was for a special find, be it an undiscovered cave system, an unlooted chest with too much gear to carry back, or a new animal mob for farming. Amber symbolized the presence of injuries and would signal for the base to prep medical supplies or send someone out for retrieval. Red needed no explanation- it was all hands on deck and for all to rendezvous to the location immediately._

_If Dream’s directional sense was accurate - which it was 80% of the time- the signal was coming from the coast, the very place he had been mere minutes ago. The coincidence was uncanny._

_A foreboding shadow of dread wrapped itself around his heart. How long had he been out for?_

_Torn between falling back on his own emergency instructions and his gut instinct to continue putting distance between enemy lands and himself, Dream caught himself uncharismatically freezing for a second._

**_What was wrong with him?_ **

_Alas, almost like it was scripted, a decision was made for him as a familiar group of people came into view._

_Sapnap, Punz, Karl (and huh was that Ponk? What was the neutral doing with his team?) came running over the path right to where Dream stood; each bristling with full netherite and armed to the teeth- And leading the terrifying fray was-_

_“George!”_

_A blatant sense of true relief spread through his chest at the sight. It was like a literal weight had been lifted off Dream’s shoulders that he didn’t even know he was carrying. His people were here! At long last, he would finally receive answers responsible for this maddening night._

_“Thank God you’re all here.” Curling his lips into a smile, the leader started towards his faction members, all his earlier tension oozing away. “Can someone please explain to me what the actual fuck is going on?”_

_However, George did not react to his exclamation at all. His best friend didn’t even turn to look at him. In fact… No one did._

_Something strange twisted low in his stomach as Dream faulted, stopping dead in his tracks._

_“Guys?”_

_Headless to his repeated calls, Karl and Punz started pulling out bottles of potions from their satchel. Sapnap adjusted his grip on his netherite axe and turned towards Ponk who nodded grimly. The four men then began to distribute the resources among them. All this time, George remained silent and still, looking away towards the uncharted enemy territory that laid before them._

_“We each got three sets of strength 2 pots and splash potions of harming.” Sapnap announced, walking up to the older man with a pouch filled with his share of the potions._

_“Skeppy and Bad will be meeting us at The Embassy with more resources at hand.” Punz added, slinging his quiver across his back._

_“We’re ready. It’s your call, George.”_

_Almost as if he was having an out-of-body experience, Dream watched on, confused and bewildered like never before. What was happening? Did they not see him?_ _What the fuck was happening-_

 _“Raze their lands to bedrock.” George’s voice broke against the dark clearing abruptly. It was cold and calculating and_ dead- _sending a full shiver down Dream’s spine; Never had he ever heard his friend speak like that before._

_“Leave nothing standing.”_

_In the fog of uncertainty and confusion, Dream followed the direction of his friend’s sudden unhinged fixation and rapidly-growing bloodthirst-_

_It led him to the direction of the great amethyst walls and the foliage of redwood trees._

_A twisted smile graced Geroge’s face as the man spun around to face the faction that he led with fire in his eyes and death on his mind._

**_“We attack at dawn.”_ **


	6. Of Blood and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Just a fair warning, this chapter contains spoilers for those who have not been up to date on the major events that have gone down on the SMP server. I also decided to spice it up by adding my own twist to the business which I linked back to the plotline of this story. It’s all about the parallels and references amirite? 
> 
> I’m so fucking excited to let you all read this one. I hope you’re all ready.
> 
>  **TW:** Descriptions of violence, blood and graphic injuries. 

* * *

_"Oceans rise, empires fall_

_We have seen each other through it all_

_And when push comes to shove_

_I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!"_

_\- Hamilton | You’ll be back_

* * *

_“Look, George. Everything the light touches is our kingdom.”_

_Standing high atop the hillock and against the glare of the setting sun, two men stood side by side as they faced the world together._

_“King’s time as a ruler rises and falls like the sun.”_

_“One day, George, the sun will set on my time here and rise with you,”_

_His green eyes glowed, reflecting against white glasses in front of him, the intensity of his friend’s gaze searing and powerful and bright as he turned towards his leader._

_“As the new king.”_

____

The neutrals saw him as a pacifist, the only one who could keep his faction in line when they went on murder sprees. The enemy saw him as a man who was afraid of combat, the weakest link of Dream’s band of comrades. 

Indeed, the man himself would be the first to admit that he might not be the strongest fighter on the battlefield. Alas, it did not mean he had no experience with close-quarter combat, it was just that he often left the brute frontline attacks to Punz and Sapnap and opted to stand on the high-ground as their faction’s snipper (long-ranged weaponry was his forte). Nevertheless, his personal choice of weapon was but his mind, his analytical genius and battle strategies; which were unparalleled only to Dream’s own. 

Contrary to popular belief, he was actually the one who brought up the idea of having a spy within the enemy faction. With Dream’s nod of approval, he then personally decided to take himself out of the border skirmishes to observe their enemies from afar; Trying to pick out the cracks in the revolutionist's young members. Tubbo was ignorant enough but much too loyal to Tommy, Niki and Fundy were constantly shadowed under Wilbur’s protection and Jack was too new to combat and the realities of war. 

Which left Eret. The wild-card who bowed down to no man and who was at constant logger-heads with his leader.

It was almost _too_ perfect. 

With the spine of his plan in play, Dream executed it readily. His leader commanded Punz to start digging the underground tunnels leading from Ponk’s neutral area to L’manberg’s base. He sent Sapnap to sabotage their enemy’s resources (Their youngest member came back with a chest filled with emeralds). And when the time was right, the two of them went to pay Eret a visit on that very fateful night; With promises of land, wealth and prestige decorating their proposition.

He was not weak. Oh, no he wasn’t - Not by a fucking longshot.

Because, when push came to shove, behind his pretty face, calm facade and false pretenses, George could prove to be the most dangerous one among them all.

There was a reason why Dream chose him to be his successor. 

Distantly, the brunet heard his faction shift around him soundlessly, each clad and armed to the teeth as they distributed their resources among themselves. The air sizzled with visceral emotion and the tension thick enough to be sliced in half by an axe.

But as George stood atop the hillock under the glow of moonlight, staring down at the flag of L’manberg blankly, he had never felt so _alone_. 

He couldn’t imagine fighting without heeding the call of their leader. He couldn’t imagine being a ruler to his people. Physical pain gripped his chest, throbbing like a ragged wound; an emptiness that could never be replaced.

Because George could not imagine a life without Dream by his side.

“We each got three sets of strength 2 pots and splash potions of harming.” Sapnap announced, his words sharp and determined. Walking up to George with a pouch filled with his share of the potions, his friend placed an armored-clad hand onto his stiffened shoulders in an act of silent reassurance. With fire dancing alight in his dark eyes, Sapnap smiled; a myriad of emotions flashing across his face.

Grief. Anger. _Rage. **Bloodlust**_.

Wordlessly, George nodded and pocketed his prize, the intensity of his friend’s gaze igniting a familiar wave of passion in his heart.

“Eret and Karl will be meeting us at The Embassy with more resources at hand.” Punz added, slinging his quiver across his back, fastening his shield snuggly next to it. 

“We’re ready. It’s your call, George.” 

_We’ll follow your lead. We’ll fight by your side._

The words remained unspoken by his people. It was left to swirl in the still air of dusk.

_We’ll bring this empire to their knees today._

“Raze their lands to the bedrock.”

The words that left his mouth tasted foreign and unfamiliar. But change had to start today. It was a proclamation of strength, a sign of unity and a true show of _power_. 

“Leave nothing standing.”

He would not be emotionally compromised. He would lead his faction to victory. He would avenge his fallen leader - By _any_ means necessary.

**“We attack at midnight.”**

____

_“Onwards!”_

_Lights flashed across his vision, voices murmured nothingness from behind bristling trees, his footsteps thudded against the ground in sync with the thrum of his heartbeat; faster and fasterfasterfaster-_

_A volley of battle cries thundered into the night._

_One moment Dream was running through the path chasing after his friends- the wind in his face and the dark sky clear above his head and in the next, he found himself in the middle of a raging battlefield at the dawn of a new beginning._

_“Down with the revolution! Take them all out!”_

_He recognized George’s cry. But the sheer fury and rage underlining his words were unfamiliar and haunting. Clambering into the heart of enemy territory, Dream’s eyes traced the fight and landed onto his friends in the heat of the fray._

_Sapnap screamed and barrelled straight into Fundy, slamming him hard onto the ground. The L’manbergian barely managed to duck away from a fatal blow to his chest as a netherite axe struck the earth where he laid seconds ago._

_Punz and Eret were battling side by side, shoving Niki, Jack and Tubbo back towards the walls of their lands easily without resistance; Their combined strength proving too much even for the three people against them._

_Karl tossed potion after potion onto the battlefield; his aim squarely onto the president and his right-hand man. Snarling in frustration, Tommy brought up his shield as another potion of weakness splashed onto the edge of the wooden surface. Nodding a wordless signal at his leader, the boy shifted quickly._

_“Now Wilbur!”_

_In a flash, the leader of the rebellion whipped out his crossbow and quickly reloaded a tripled-charged shot. Before Karl could blink, his gaze falling onto a small green orb that was unceremoniously tossed into the air, Wilbur appeared behind him and released his weapon at point-blank range-_

_But not before L’manberg’s leader was viciously shoved away and sent tumbling gracelessly onto the dirt by a single swing of an enemy’s sword._

_In the glow of the rising sun, George stood tall, guarding his teammate protectively behind the cover of his shield._

_“Fight me L’manbergian.” A terrifying sneer curled itself across the brunet’s face._

_“Fight me if you_ **_dare_** _.”_

_Refusing to stand down, Wilbur released his crossbow vainly as his arrows went wide in three sporadic directions. Two shots were blocked immediately by George and Karl._

_Abruptly, as the last arrow flew towards… his way, Dream realized the real danger he suddenly was in. Too caught up in the action and watchful for his faction’s safety, he had forgotten to look out for himself._

_Fuck._

_Dream raised his hands to shield his face and braced for the pain that would follow. Weaponless and armorless, there was really nothing else he could do. He knew all too well that there would not be enough reaction time to prevent the arrowhead from_ _embedding_ _itself into his flesh._

 _There was a dull_ thunk _as the final arrow hit its mark dead on._

_Time slowed as Dream felt the phantom touch of something sharp pierce his skin. But as quickly as he perceived it, the strange sensation dissipated. At once, his body was consumed with an odd all encapsulating bubble of coldness. It was as if someone had dunked his entire body into cold water, numbing his body and mind with vivid realization._

_Because the arrow didn’t hit him._

_It went_ through _him._

_A strange glassy calm of delirium overtook him, freezing his thoughts and rooting him on the spot in the single moment of impossibility. Everything around him felt like it was going in slow, animated movements as Dream stood in the center of the hurricane._

_Everything made sense now. The viciousness of his faction. The bloodlust that glowed in their eyes. The violence in their movements. The way he had gotten out of it all unscathed. The way no one responded to his calls. The way George fought like he had nothing to lose._

**_He_ ** _was dead. He had to be._

_There was no other explanation. It was the only explanation._

_Staring down at his trembling hands, frozen in shock and utter confusion, Dream allowed the rush of time to speed past him. The world around him thudded against the ground in sync with the thrum of his terrified heartbeat; faster and fasterfasterfaster-_

_A piercing cry rang out, shoving Dream back into the timeline of events just in time to see his best friend viciously strike L’manberg’s leader down against the rough gravel of the earth. Thrusting his netherite sword dangerously under the enemy’s chin, George spat out the final words that sealed their combined fates._

_“This is for Dream, you_ **_bastard_** _.”_

____

_The sword sliced across the air and hit home fatally._

_Blood splattered against the grass._

_Wilbur slummed to the ground soundlessly._

_And all of L’manberg **screamed**_. 

____

_“Well.”_

_George smiled; fierce and dark and cruel, wiping the red of his weapon onto the still body at his feet. His voice was...deeper, darker, different-_

_“That was pretty easy.”_

_Suddenly, as the shockwave of the enemy leader’s fate rippled through the crowd around him, the terrains surrounding L’manberg swirled and spun dizzily right before Dream’s disbelieving eyes. In a flash, a huge stage sprung up in front of where he stood. Hugging the outer circle of the enemy’s heartlands, it towered above the earth, decorated with polished wood, frosted glass and a stream of flowing waterfalls._

_Standing high atop the platform and against the glare of the setting sun, two vague figures stood came forward, flanking George side by side as they looked over the devastation of L’manberg together. They were not clad in a single piece of armor, nor did they bear weapons. But their suits were as sharp as swords and their eyes glowed with power, hidden behind inky shaders of their own._

_The new rulers looked down towards their conquered land and upon the fearful citizens who trembled under their fiery gazes._

_“You listen to me!” One voice merged into three as it rang above the chaos, beckoning L’manberg to listen, to conform, to bow._

_“This place will be a lot different tomorrow.”_

**_“Let’s start making it happen-”_ **

_A sharp gasp of surprise sounded from somewhere in the crowd as the fallen president shifted weakly, propping himself weakly up onto the grass. Shoving Tommy- who had ran towards his leader at once- away with his dwindling strength, Wilbur struggled to pull something metal and black from his coat; clutching it tightly in his trembling palm as if his very life depended on it._

_“If w-we can’t,” A harsh, ragged cough ripped from his throat as clots of blood splattered onto the dirt. “h-have L-L’manberg-”_

_The lands around dipped and morphed, seemingly terraforming at the will of the man bleeding out on the grass. Festivities and grandstands grew parallel from the earth, tied together with colors of the rainbow- a cruel juxtaposition to the setting at hand. The two strangers backed away, disappearing behind the shadows of a throne that had taken over the stage. No one seemed to notice though, the people’s focus remained dead set on the final bloody face-off between the two leaders as time came to a screeching halt._

_George hissed in twisted dismay, raising his weapon to finish the job once more._

_But not before Wilbur slammed the flint and steel deep into the crimson soil beneath him-_

_and the ominous sound of multiple pistons shifting, redstone repeaters activating and the sizzle of dynamite rang out clearly through the open clearing._

_In the steadily growing sea of people, Dream distantly made out Bad’s cry of shock, Sapnap’s gasp of horror, Punz slowly backing away, Fundy and Niki climbing back onto their feet..._

_But it was too late._

_The ground rumbled it’s final warning before everything went still for a single beat of silent, suspended animation._

_In the last moments of what was to come, Dream could only watch in helpless devastation as George stared, aghast, his sword slipping from his fingers as the earth shattered from beneath his feet._

**_“Then no one can.”_ **

_____

_And in the wake of a burning flag, as the claws of madness gript the hearts and minds of their leaders, the walls of_ ~~_L'_ ~~ _Manberg finally came crumbling down; exploding in a flash of gunpowder and echoing with the dying screams of blood and fire._

_____

A terrible cry rocked the room, jerking the neutral into full abrupt awareness at the foot of the mattress he was slummed on. It was brimming with anguish and piercing torment, the very sound itself ripping throughout the four walls of the area; broken and animalistic. In a flash, the door crashed open, slamming against the walls of obsidian with the sheer brute force of the single, fluid action.

The president of L’manberg came barreling into the underground bunker as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. 

Body tense like a spring, weapon at the ready and breaths coming in short, sharp pants, Wilbur swept his eyes across to the occupants of the isolated room with an urgency he never felt before. 

“Bad? I heard-”

Alas, his words trailed off into a stifled, gobsmacked silence of pure disbelief as his gaze landed on the single bed in the middle of the darken clearing.

And at last, for the second time in four days, realization dawned onto Wilbur like a fist to the gut as a pair of fearful, _clear_ green eyes once again met dark brown in the shadows of the midnight flame.

_“Dream?”_


	7. Of The End (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** After the events of 'The 16th', that last chapter didn’t age well huh?
> 
> Anyways, the children are screaming, the house is on fire and God is dead. 
> 
> Shall we go on? 
> 
> **TW:** Descriptions of violence, blood and graphic injuries.

* * *

_Chaos was the law of nature; Order was the dream of man._

_\- Henry Adams_

* * *

At the highest point in the night sky, the moon illuminated the undergrowth as two figures emerged from the darkness. Together, they dashed into the lands of L’manberg without a beat of warning, rhyme or reason. From the bastion watchtowers and on red high alert, Fundy hollered a shout of warning as Jack and Niki raised their flamed bows into the air-

“Stop!” A painfully familiar scream rang out onto their lands, shaking Tommy out of his rigid battle stance. 

“Stop, we’re friendly!”

He recognized that voice anywhere. 

Alas, with the shadows of war emerging on the horizon, L’manberg could trust nothing but hardened and foolproof visual confirmation. Shoving his friends aside, Tommy almost threw himself off the edge of the walls in desperation to prove that he was right. The foreboding feeling of dread rising in his gut simmered down slightly as he was greeted by a pair of familiar brown eyes from under a flash of diamond and netherite as a shield was raised defensively.

“It’s Tubbo!” He screamed, hasty to diffuse the situation. 

“Tubbo and Skeppy! Stand down!”

The rumbling of heavy gates opened in an apologetic acknowledgment - The last of their people had finally come home. 

Scrambling down from the tower, the faction wasted no time to greet their fellow L’manbergian and the neutral he had surprisingly brought into their lands at midnight. 

“Are you good? You were due to return hours ago!” Grabbing his best friend in a death-gripped embrace, Tommy searched Tubbo’s face critically, noting the flash of apprehension and terror that had yet to leave his gaze.

“What happened?”

Unprompted, Fundy butted in abruptly before the boy could respond.

“I-I’m really sorry Tubs,” his voice trembled with regret at the near friendly-fire he had almost allowed. 

“Wilbur's last orders before he left to gather the last of our supplies underground were to stand our ground and shoot anything that moved in the forest.” 

In an instant, the clearing exploded with voices, overlapped with worry and interrupted with uncertainty.

“We’ve been on high alert ever since that red beacon had been lighted-”

“I saw-”

“Did you bring more potions? Jack and I didn’t manage to get enough blaze rods in the nether-”

“Not exac-”

“When Wilbur comes back he’ll bring us all back to speed. He said that he had a plan-”

“G-Guys-”

“You’ll be stationed on the top of the bastion I think. You’re best with the crossbow-“

“I-”

A ear-piercing whistle silenced the overwhelming chatter bluntly - catching the L’manbergians by sharp surprise. 

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Boldly shoving himself between the internal chaos and a trembling Tubbo, Skeppy barrelled into the fray, irritation and urgency alight in his tone.

“We don’t have time for this!”

The blistering glower Tommy sent towards the neutral was enough to melt molten steel. How dare this man who held no alliance enter their lands unannounced and order them around? How did he end up on their soil anyway? Why did his best friend bring him here-

“They know.”

The two words shattered the stunned silence, hitting the mark of the hearts of the people who had unconsciously formed an overprotective semicircle around the trembling, ominous voice of alarm that was Tubbo. 

“A-And... They’re c-comi-”

He never got to finish. Atop the watchtower, there was a violent wave of movement that sliced through the ragged band of men on the grounds like the blunt side of a knife. 

It was the first call of the herald; announcing the beginning of the end.

“Enemy line spotted along the western hillock! G-” Jack’s cry of warning was sharply cut off as a single flaming arrow struck the wood above him, forcing him to duck for cover. 

Time seemed to stall as Tommy jerked his head to the left, struggling to locate the source of danger that was encircling their borders. And at last, the reality of the inevitable settled into his bones like a death warrant.

Because this time he needed no visual confirmation, it was crystal clear. 

_They were already here._

Ignoring the slight flare of pain that throbbed from his previously busted knuckles, Tommy tightened his grip around the netherite sword at his hip before turning to his people expecting them to rise up-

However, each L’manbergian stood rooted to the spot, unmoving - frozen in their own headspace of uncertainty and fear. 

With the heavy absence of their president weighing down on all of them, the lack of directive and instruction was stark in comparison to their past battles. Because, over-reliant on both Wilbur’s leadership and command, _no one actually knew what to do next._

Unconsciously, their blank, uncertain gazes settled on the next chain of command.

The seconds ticked by in beat and harmony with his heightened pulse as Tommy’s world sharpened with rapid-fueled adrenaline. With the feeling of five sets of eyes on him, his brain then went into a stress-filled overdrive. 

_He could do this._

Facing his shaken faction, Tommy sucked in a sharp breath of air and set his shoulders back with all the confidence he could muster. There was no better time to step up than now.

_He would lead his people._

“We have to stall for time until our president arrives.”

_He would do Wilbur proud._

Turning to Niki first, Tommy gestured to the main bastion that had received the first warning shot. 

“Niki.” The girl in question straightened immediately at the sound of her name, her eyes flicking towards Tommy as he continued. “Get to the north tower and relieve Jack’s station.” 

“I want you to focus on aerial attacks and to overlook the battlegrounds. Wilbur left a tripled charged infinity bow on the first chest next to the ladders.” He saw the very moment where Niki took a deep breath and visibly pulled herself together. 

“I can do that!” She said with fierce determination. Tommy then watched as their ambassador descended the ladder before Niki swiftly took his place in a second. Without a beat of hesitation, Tommy pushed on in the heat of the moment.

“Fundy, stick with Jack and target your heavy hits on Sapnap and Punz.” Two sets of nods were tossed his way as the pair began tightening their netherite armor. “Don’t let them push forward into our lands.”

“Take the enchanted shields!” He added, pointing to the shimmering enchantments decorating the protective surfaces. “It might help in defending against the frontliners who would be using axes.”

“Keep a lookout for Eret.” The traitor’s name tasted vile in Tommy’s throat. “We are not sure if he might be in this fight.”

Fundy made a sound of acknowledgment as he started towards his assigned partner, Tommy’s unexpected command sparking new battle tactics that were beginning to spring up into the older man’s mind. Jack brushed off the soot from his face, eyes dark and solely prepared to fight on the ground properly this time. Above, Niki held the quiver in her steady hand and placed herself safely behind a solid wall of nether brick, alert and ready to engage. 

A body brushed against Tommy as Tubbo wordlessly came up to stand hesitantly by his side. Although the second-in-command had yet to put a finger on what had shaken up his best friend to such a drastic extent, he did not need to ask. Dream’s faction was well known for their manhunts. One did not have to be a genius to put two and two together at the sight of a L’manbergian and a neutral dashing across their lands like their lives depended on them in the wake of their enemy’s arrival. 

Tubbo was jittery, unfocused and on knife's edge. And judging by his knuckled-white grip on his sword that had yet to cease in its trembling intensity even long after he had entered his supposed safe haven, there was no way in hell that Tommy was letting Tubbo man the watchtowers and be their designated sniper as per usual.

There was no way in hell that Tommy was letting Tubbo out of his sight. Not anymore.

“Focus on finding and distracting Karl. He’s the weakest out of them all.” Gently, the teen held his shaken friend by the shoulders, trying to transfer as much stability and feelings of calm to the shorter boy through touch alone. “Remember: You have an advantage over him in terms of battlefield experience.” 

“Wilbur said that he has a plan. We will just have to hold on till he gets here-”

“You all put too much trust in that man you call president.”

Tubbo stiffened under his grip as the pair spun around to meet the owner of the grating words. Unfazed by the brazenness of his words, Skeppy stared them down boldly, his eyes darkening and unreadable. 

An unconscious growl left his throat as Tommy sprang up with his instinctual need to defend the man who he considered his leader, his friend and his brother. But Tubbo beat him to it, his words bitter with hurt. 

“Skeppy? Wha- You told me you’ll stand by to defend us!”

“I told you that I’ll defend _you._ ” The neutral corrected bluntly. “Under my own turf. In _my own house_.”

“The only reason why I’m _here_ now, in L’manberg, is to get Bad out.” He paused, undeterred by the stricken silence left in his wake, before gesturing to the satchel slung across his armored back. “And I’m willing to bet all the potions in this bag that your leader is with him as we speak.”

In a flash, his voice dropped dangerously, like a fierce strike of lightning. 

“Because I’m sure every citizen in L’manberg knows very well why my best friend was dragged into your business _in the first place.”_

Spreading his arms wide towards the four amethyst walls bordering them, Skeppy studied him with a strange sort of intensity.

“Look around you, Tommy. Who exactly are you fighting for?” 

The first tendrils of uncertainty crept its way onto Tommy’s chest and curled around his heart as the boy stared into the cold mocking eyes of a man who chose to side with no one.

“I’m fighting for L’manberg!” It was blurted from his lips automatically. It was an unconscious thought - an immediate response. A rightfully obvious answer. 

At his side, however, Tubbo’s remained silent. His response dying painfully in his throat. 

And Skeppy gave a small, knowing, mirthless smile; striking L’manberg’s second with an abrupt, crippling revelation - The final wavering nail in the coffin of loyalty.

“Are you really?” 

Alas, there wasn’t an open window of opportunity to retort or elaborate or _think_ as the clearing was immediately struck alive by a voice of alarm.

“Eyes up!” Niki’s battle-cry rang out from the watchtower.

“They’re approaching the gates!”

As if it was his given cue to go, Skeppy turned his heel without another word and disappeared deep into the heart of their lands - His own personal mission at the forefront of his own mind. 

But Tommy didn’t even see him go.

Distantly, he heard his faction scramble around him urgently in the wake of Niki’s warning; Each running to their battle stations and unsheathing their weapons as they distributed their resources among themselves. The air sizzled with visceral emotion and the tension was thick enough to be sliced in half by an ax. 

But as Tommy stood at the gates of L’manberg under the glow of the moon at midnight, plagued by the new seeds of doubt, and now with the additional lack of support from his best friend, he had never felt so _alone_. 

_I’m fighting for L’manberg._ The boy tried to all but fall back on the last line of defenses he knew and that had stowed away in the depths of his very soul. 

_I’m fighting to protect L’manberg - To defend it from the flames of the foes who just kept taking and taking and taking-_

_“Tommy... What have we done?”_

_“He’s throwing up blood! Fuck, I think he punctured a lung-”_

_“Wait, this... you aren’t Tubbo-”_

_“Tommy, why the fuck then did you jump in after him?”_

_“S-So if he did slip away in the night, he wouldn’t go i-in... agony-”_

_But wasn’t L’manberg the one who started the fire this time?_

Pulling himself together, Tommy struggled to narrow his focus onto the rising threats on the moonlit horizon - vaguely he could make out the flash of purple in the dark and shimmering blades of steel. Straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders, he forced a veil of calm to wash over himself in a last desperate attempt to drown out the red on his ledger. 

And as his eyes fell onto a familiar brunet emerging from the darkness of the forest, bristling with the rage of a thousand men, Tommy felt his mouth moving over the same phrase - over and over and over again-

For L’manberg

_For L’manberg_

...

**_For L’manberg?_ **

____

The single, powerful designation rang through the bunker in the echoes of a devastating cry - brought forth in the haze of sheer disbelief. 

Without an ounce of hesitation, Bad sprang up from where he was kneeling on the ground for the past two days. Ignoring the twinge of discomfort in his limbs, the neutral focused on the sole thing that mattered. 

Ever since he had been personally summoned to L’manberg and thrown into a battle that he was never supposed to fight in, Bad had come to a conclusion that he would just risk everything and take all that he was offered just so as to pull his friend from the brink of certain death. 

Oh, he was going to have _words_ with a certain president when it was all over - that was beyond a doubt. This… mindless war between these two nations had gone too far and at last, had finally reached a tipping point and now Bad would be damned if he stood around like a stick in the mud. Fueled with sheer determination and frustration alone, Bad had once slammed an accord of a cease-fire right in the very faces of the two leaders.

He could _very much do it again._

But in the meantime, there was no time to be emotionally compromised, there was no time to play the blame game; Not when the consequences of this one man’s life proved to be fatal for the rest of the lands.

So Bad did what he did best: Compartmentalize. 

It was frankly easier said than done.

The next few days were a terrible blur of anxiety, tension and an inhumane amount of pressure that Bad would never wish even onto his worst enemy. The youngest boy, Tommy, had entered the room once in a while to check in on him silently before leaving him to his own medical expertise. Once, however, the boy had pushed a bottle of water in his bloodied hands with a reminder to hydrate. Niki came in twice a day to offer fresh bread, her kind smile never quite reaching her eyes. Wilbur had gone straight to the point of getting a health report, his voice grating and apathetic. 

Nevertheless, each time a L’manbergian would enter the stifling obsidian bunker, their gaze would flutter onto the slack face of Dream with a strange look of open curiosity before retreating back where they came. It clawed at Bad’s nerves and made the neutral madly uncomfortable beyond measure. How dare they gawk at the vulnerability of his friend at the expense of their mercy? But there was truly nothing else he could do. Because Bad’s stress-riddled mind had only enough strength to focus on three things.

_Administer splash potions of regeneration or health three times a day._

_Bandage and rebandage his wounds._

_Check for infection._

**_Keep Dream alive._ **

And in the wake of his friend’s split blood, broken skin and delirious screams, on the third night, all his efforts proved to not be in vain when Bad was jerked awake by a very familiar cry. 

Tears of pure, unadulterated _relief_ pricked at the edge of his eyes, blurring his vision. It was like the very world itself that he was literally carrying on his shoulders had been lifted in a single, handsome swoop. Bad had done it. _He did it._

_Dream was awake._

He stifled a sob of happiness threatening to rise in his throat. There were so many things Bad wanted to ask, to say, to know. 

God, where could he start? 

But before he could open his mouth to speak, Bad felt a cold, shaking hand clamp down onto his own as a pair of frightened green eyes searched his own with a strange type of frantic urgency. The unsettling sight instinctively reactivated all the defenses in Bad’s form; Because - looking past the fact that Dream was waking from his three-day-comatose-like state in the middle of enemy territory - there was something intrinsically _wrong_ with the entire picture unfolding in front of him. 

See, contrary to what people thought, Dream was a man of raw emotion. It was the very reason why he chose to conceal them behind a mask. Over the many years Bad had gotten to know his friend, the neutral had the liberty to recognize the many emotional spectrums to him; Happiness that split his face into a smile when they had found the first netherite scrap - Disgust as he watched from the dawn of the day where a new revolution sprang forth from nothing - Rage when his faction, his friends and his brothers had been threatened needlessly - Icy calm as he stood alone on the wooden pathway armorless, surrounded by his foe and with a single arrow in his quiver - Contempt as he watched L’manberg fall under his might...

But never fear. Never the open, stricken terror that was currently painting his friend’s face like a discolored canvas. 

It was disconcerting. It was unnerving. It was frightening. Bad _never wanted to see it again._

“Dream, it’s me!” He tried, placing a firm hand on a trembling bandaged chest, desperate to quell the unsettling feeling in his soul. 

“It’s Bad! Everything is going to be okay, I promise.”

The neutral fully expected the blatant panic in his eyes to dissolve immediately at the sight of a familiar face but Dream only shook his head wildly and squeezed his eyes closed, seemingly refusing to believe the truth of Bad’s words. But then the grip on his arm tightened by a fraction and a broken hiss of obvious pain left his patient. 

At once, without disentangling his hold on Dream (or Dream’s hold on him), Bad scrambled to snag his day pack from under the bed. The last potion of health stared back at him, the bottle shimmered an outworldly crimson. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a splash potion. 

(A nauseating vision of Fundy and Jack physically restraining Dream’s convulsing body onto the bed, Tommy screaming for help and Wilbur violently forcing a potion down his bloody throat flashed across Bad’s mind once more. It made him sick to his very core. He could not- no, _would not_ make his friend go through that again, not if he could help it)

Swallowing a curse, the neutral realized what he had to do. 

“We gotta sit you up bud. I’m sorry but this is going to hurt.”

With surprisingly little resistance, Dream allowed himself to be shifted into an upright position from where he had remained prone for the last seventy-odd hours. Bad tried to make the process as painless as possible but they both knew that it would be a losing battle. Under his careful ministrations, sharp fingernails dug deep into his forearm and Bad heard the audible sound of gritted teeth as Dream stubbornly trapped his silent cries of pain in; making not a sound at all.

Bad almost wondered if that was worse than hearing his friend scream instead.

Ignoring the new crescent marks forming on the surface of his skin and the tearing pain in his heart, Bad slid his free hand behind Dream’s neck and brought the precious bottle to his lips.

“Drink. Slow-Slowly. There we go...”

Gradually, the discomfort on Dream’s face drained away together with the contents of the potion and at last, Bad finally allowed himself to _breathe_. There was only so much of this that he could physically and mentally take. It wasn’t that Bad could not work under traumatic conditions or that he was so far from the safety of his home. It was that he had to constantly rely on others to get supplies; It was the constant unpredictability of the situation. And it was the very fact that he was all _alone_ while doing so. 

But as Dream continued to cling onto Bad (with surprising strength he didn’t think his friend had) as if the sheer skin contact was confirmation that the neutral was indeed present in the room, Bad swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to get his friend out. 

A half-empty bottle was slowly pressed into his palm, shoving Bad from his thoughts. Snapping his eyes up, Bad watched through blurred vision (wait when did he start crying?) as clear, pain-free green eyes searched his own carefully. 

“Y-You’re… not d-” Dream’s voice broke off, raspy from disuse as he took the opportunity of Bad gaping at him like a fish out of water to try again. 

“B-Bad...You’re o-okay?”

Jerking backwards unconsciously at the unexpected greeting, Bad swiftly concealed his confusion with a watery smile as he placed his palm gently on a freckled cheek. 

“Of course!” The words left him immediately but not before his brain struggled to comprehend why Dream was questioning _him_ instead. 

“But… I-I should be asking _you_ that instead… you _muffinhead._ ”

The transparent confusion on his friend’s face matched his own. Something was not adding up. Did Dream remember what had happened? Nevertheless, in an attempt to preserve his friend’s vocal cords, Bad decided to oblige. Frankly, it was the least he could do. 

“No one dared to lay a hand on me while I was here.” Bad sighed, feeling the steady thump of Dream’s carotid pulse under his fingertips as his friend drained the rest of the potion steadily with his help.

“I’m… I’m tired.” Bad continued, hating how his voice shook like a leaf in fall. “But I’m very much unhurt and alive.”

His blatant honesty must have seemed to kickstart some sort of reaction in his friend because the neutral could see the very moment where the cogs of stark realization finally started turning in Dream’s head as the familiar spark of fire returned in his eyes. 

“‘M not. Not dead...”

“Well.” A deadpanned voice interrupted from somewhere in the room.

“You sure gave it your best shot.”

Bad almost got whiplash from how quickly he turned around. Immediately, he felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. Because in the wake of the organized chaos, he had forgotten about the very existence of which he could consider to be the most dangerous man in the room.

Donned in full netherite and armed with a sword by his side, President Wilbur Soot stood with his back to the door, looking for all in the world like he was the cat who had somehow managed to get both the cream and the canary without even unsheathing his claws. 

Bad was a man of optimism. But Bad was also a realistic man. On a good day, on equal footing, maybe, just maybe, Bad might have been able to juke his way out of a 1V1 with Soot. But he was exhausted - Both body and soul; And after pulling two all-nighters in a row, armed with nothing but his two fists - not to mention he had to protect his heavily injured friend as well - there was no way Bad would even _come close_ to winning. 

Sure Dream was a terrifying force on the battlefield but in his current state, he would be as helpful as a newborn kit. 

“Y-You…” Dream chortled suddenly from the other side of the room, cutting the neutral’s train of thought in an explosive spontaneous outburst. Before Bad could sport a reply, a sharp, hysterical laugh broke forth from Dream’s throat. 

Never in Bad’s twenty-five years of existence would he had managed to predict the pure _insanity_ that would emerge from his friend’s mouth in the heat of the moment.

“ _You blew up L’manberg.”_

It was as if the man had suddenly been possessed seeing how Dream promptly reeled over, injuries seemingly forgotten, and dissolved into a fit of pure _mania_ as if he had told the world’s funniest joke. 

It simply wasn’t anything that Bad had anticipated Dream would say in retaliation. Not even _close_. 

Bad found himself at a complete and utter loss for words, torn between dashing to his friend in hysterics and calming him down in fear of Dream reopening his sutures, and facing the upcoming wrath from a certain president that was sure to come inevitably...

Only Dream could manage to royally piss-off the leader of L’manberg in his strange state of deranged delirium, five minutes after regaining consciousness.

Wilbur’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click, his face twisting with a comedic sort of startling intensity. His earlier look of contempt dropped off the face of the earth as it flashed from a look of pure incredulousness and disbelief before turning dangerously stormy. It was as if the president simply couldn’t fathom the unknown storm of madness that he was currently unraveling in front of his own two eyes. 

“I would rather die,” his tongue finally found the right words to respond with perfect finality as they rose with deadly rage - a direct echo to a similar proclamation of the truth that he had uttered all those months ago to the very same man, “than destroy a nation that I built with my own two hands.”

“If anything,” Wilbur spat acidly, striking Dream with a blistering glare right from the depths of hell, taking a dangerous step forward towards the bed. 

“You’re the very bastard who introduced the first TNT onto our lands.” 

Bad vaguely made out Dream muttering something about explosions and his own name, struggling to compose himself in spite of the literal physical danger screaming at him in red, bold letters.

_Gods, give him the strength… When this was all over, Bad was going to dig himself an underground bunker, hook himself up to an IV drip and hibernate till the next Spring. He was simply not paid enough to deal with not one - but two, feral leaders who were now a sword length away from taking the other out._

So, with the resolve of a thousand men, Bad moved and stood in the eye of the storm; placing himself firmly between an immovable object and an unstoppable force. 

“Don’t take another step closer, Soot.”

“Your services are no longer required in L’manberg, _neutral_.” Wilbur snarled without breaking eye-contact with his paralleled enemy. 

“Close the door on your way out.” The dismissal in his tone was final, he didn’t even bother to look at Bad’s general direction. “My men will escort you back to the neutral zone on the surface.” 

“I’m not a fool.” Standing his ground boldly, Bad curled his lip in an uncharacteristic snarl of disdain, shielding Dream’s vulnerable state from Wilbur’s scalding gaze. “I know what you’ll do to him the moment my back is turned.” 

For a terrifying moment, Bad thought the president of L’manberg would snatch the sword from his belt and stick it in his gut in a single fluid slash of movement. But then, for the second time in mere minutes, Dream spoke up again. It spoke volumes towards the authority he held in spite of his pitiful condition because the deadly staring competition between L’manberg’s leader and the neutral ceased immediately; both heads swiveling to face the man on the bed in perfect tandem. 

This time in contrast, however, Dream’s voice was rock steady and layered with an icy calm that Bad was very familiar with; there wasn’t a shred of hysteria to be found.

“Oh, he’s not going to kill me, Bad.” 

The healing potion must have finally taken its full and steadying effect. Bad didn’t know that a side effect of the potion was ironically an insane amount of confidence and fearlessness even at the sight of death. If they all managed to get out of this one alive, Dream owed him - oh that… _muffinhead owed him so freaking much-_

“If he wanted to. He’d have just left me on the shoreline to bleed out.” Shrugging as if they were merely discussing the weather, Dream continued on impassively.

“I’d have been long dead before dawn.”

The rapid change of tonation, the blatantly contrasting words and the continuous spiraling situation was giving Bad a huge migraine. Tactical intimidation and strategic interrogation were so far from his area of expertise that it physically hurt him to think about it. 

Wilbur must have finally managed to find his bearings after the battle of wits because he brought himself to his full height and towered over the two people who did not belong in his lands like a furious raincloud.

“So you do remember.” He started, tone hard and cynical.

“I’m pleased to see that you’re back to your old self again. It makes matters of import easier to discuss doesn’t it?”

With years of experience in his belt, Dream ignored the barbed comment that was flung his way and continued on easily. “Oh, I do _remember_." A beat of startled silence pricked the clearing. "Someone carried me back from the beach, brought me to a secure location and sought help on my behalf.” His green eyes were bright and watchful, studying the way Wilbur had suddenly shifted defensively. 

“My wounds reek of medication and potions and are healing well. But your faction could never afford to use your own resources on me.” Gesturing to the side weakly where Bad stood, Dream barreled on like a freight train. 

“And Bad here would never willingly break his neutral status and enter external territory unless personally beckoned under special circumstances.” The aforementioned neutral found himself nodding in agreement. 

“...Last I remembered, there is only one person with that sort of calling power.” 

It was all falling in place in Bad’s mind. Initially, the neutral had thought that it was the two boys at the scene who had dragged Dream’s deadweight to L’manberg and then hollered for him. Tubbo was the one who had escorted him into their lands after all. But now in hindsight, it was easy to see that the pair both lack the physical capabilities and the authority to actually bring Dream back here... 

Which meant that he was sprouting nothing but the truth. 

“You saved me.” A terrifying, knowing grin split Dream's face. It made the smile on his signature mask (or lack thereof) pale in stark comparison. The act of conviction single-handedly turned the tides to his favor. “Now, the question is: Why?”

Bad had never been both so proud, and _oh so blatantly afraid_ of the might of his friend’s sheer control, wit and intelligence even in the wake of the events that had just taken place. 

But Wilbur definitely did not share the same sentiments. 

“Get to the point, _Dream_.” The president gritted out, between clenched teeth as Bad winced away from the force the six-foot-five leader of the rebellion carried in all of his frightening and enraging glory.

“Before I choose to _rectify_ _my mistake_ -” 

But the threat was lost onto deaf ears. 

Without warning, the earth above them rumbled ominously, snapping the leaders of the two warring nations back into attention. In the far distance, the sounds of multiple explosions shattered across the battlefield beyond their sights, sending shockwaves through the bunker - shaking the resolve of the hearts in the room where it happened. 

The air was thin and still and silent. The tension in the room tightening like a noose. 

Because they all knew what had happened - what had started; _What had just begun._

____

Wilbur’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, his face twisting with an unreadable emotion as he took a menacing step forward.

Bad lowered himself into a battle stance despite his weaponless form; loyal to his friend till the end. 

Dream raised his chin unwaveringly, defiance dancing alight in his posture as he stared at his angel of death right in the eye to provide his reply.

(But in a single moment of weakness, at the echoing sounds of igniting TNT, the full-bodied flinch that rippled through his body and the flash of naked fear shimmering in his eyes that betrayed his broken mask of confidence was not missed by a single soul who remained standing)

“What exactly do you want from me, Wilbur?”


End file.
